


Perfect Paradox

by traveler_spawn



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:09:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23505145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/traveler_spawn/pseuds/traveler_spawn
Summary: The Guardian and Saint-14, and how the perfect timeloop was broken.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 34





	1. Memory

_Dark Ages  
The Last Safe City_

**S toboy vse v poryadke?!** (Are you alright?!)

_A woman’s body-laughably tiny in comparison to his height-_

**Vy dolzhny derzhat' zashchitu!** (You have to keep the Ward up!)

_Light surging around him, over him, through him--a pool of it beneath him, augmenting Geppetto’s frantic castings. The potency of it threatens to overload his processor,_ **_and_ ** _if he_ **_dares look_ ** _at this strange Guardian who had just appeared out of nowhere._

**Pochemu by vam ne umeret'?!** (Why don’t you all just die already?!)

_The Fallen are screaming-attack cries, but Saint-14 swears he hears fear-along with the crackle and sizzle of Arc Light, and very soon death-screams start to replace the war cries--_

\---------

**SY** **STEMS ONLINING.**

Saint-14 jolts straight up from his bed-gears and optics whirring loudly.

**RECHARGE TIME-FOUR HOURS**

“Saint? Saint?!” Geppetto is in front of him, eye wide in anxiety. The Exo puts a hand to his face, stimulated breathing coming out in short rasps.

“I...I’m alright.” 

**SYSTEM ERROR: DATE/TIME NOT FOUND. LOCATION: SECTOR 5A, QUADRANT 4-C OF LAST CITY** “Are you sure?” Before Saint-14 can protest, he feels the tingle that’s Geppetto reaching out to his processor via their neural net.

**PROGRAM GEPPETTO ACCESSING LAST ACTIVATED FILES.** Saint doesn’t protest, letting his Ghost sift through his thoughts. In the dim light her liliac shell seems to sag in relief, and she withdraws from the net.

“You were dreaming about Mercury.” She says. “About her.”

“To be expected, _da_?” (Yes). Saint rumbles. Geppetto floats into his hands, and the Exo starts to stroke her shell--a habit that comforts and soothes them both. “I’ve looked just about everywhere. I cannot find anything on her, or about her.”

“Well, she...well, her Ghost said they were from the future.” Geppetto says, peering up at her Risen. “So if that were true...though it makes sense to make sure that she actually doesn’t exist here, first.”

“I do not think she does.” Saint answered. Again he could feel the tingle in the neural net as Geppetto reaches out again, playing bits of collected data before his optics. His Ghost had analyzed the Zephyr Station situation over and over again, trying to glean whatever data she could.

“Her accent was like yours-but I swear at some points it sounded different.” Saint eases up on the stroking as one of Geppetto’s fins spin. “I gave up on trying to measure her Light, because it felt like I was going to burn out doing so.”

“Same for me.” Saint leaned forward, shifting his weight. One optic flicks to the weapon that’s lying next to him, silver and lethal in the early-morning light that’s filtering though the small hut he’s in. Geppetto floats up as he reaches out for the shotgun, taking it in his hands.

_The Perfect Paradox. Built by my Guardian out of spare parts, Light, and sheer will to aid you._

“Aid me.” Saint whispered. He can still pick up on the traces of that strange Guardian’s Light all over the weapon-if he focuses hard enough, the embedded Arc will tingle his hands.

_“All is lost Guardian! Get out of here, I’ll hold them off for as long as I can!”_

“ **Molchi! Pomoshch' prikhodit!** ” (Shut up! Help is coming!)

_A Warlock, her dark-blue robes singed, burned, in a style he’d not seen ever before standing before him, corpses of the Fallen around her, looking for all the Light like some goddess of war and death--_

“Who _were_ you?” Saint whispered, turning over the Perfect Paradox in his hands. 


	2. Declaration

The Speaker steepled his hands together. Of all the positions to find himself in, never had he even dreamed of this. Father to son, though not by blood...

“Saint.” It was almost funny, how the Exo looked...guilty? Geppetto was floating in the air next to her Risen’s head, radiating...silent judgement? Maybe? It had gotten a little harder to read the Ghost since she’d found Saint, but the Speaker attributed that to the Risen/Ghost bond. He’d settle for neutrality for the moment.

“Father.” Exhaling, the Speaker held up a hand.

“I am not here to chastise you. I only wished to speak because...” How could he phrase it? Saint, who had normally been quiet, yes eager for assignments, but slow to engage in combat...had turned fight-happy. Not to the point where he was picking them, but the Speaker and others had noticed a new zeal when it came to fighting their enemies--and other Risen. And what had finally resulted in this particular encounter had been a rather...well, ‘rough’ was the understatement of the year--

“You and Veil wrecked the arena.” Ah yes, there was a squirm. 

“We...got a little...bit out of hand.” Saint admitted.

“Yeah right.” A Ghost chirped nearby. There was a sizable gathering of them in the Speaker’s quarters-some on cushions, others in makeshift nests, others on bookshelves, and a few floating about. The Speaker had only learned of the Light, was it even an incident?- from a small mob of the drones that had found him.

“Snitch.” Another Ghost chirped.

“Hey!”

“Little ones.” The Speaker said-kindly, but firmly. Disgruntled buzzing, humorous clicking came from the Ghosts. “Saint, I can’t help but feel that you’re not being completely honest with me. You’ve been different ever since you came back from Zephyr Station.” The Exo was now silent, his features unreadable. “Is this over the colonists? That wasn’t your fault...”

“...No.” Saint admitted. The Speaker tilted his head.

“No?”

“It...well...” Saint-14 looked down at his hands. He could still feel the Light, the Ward’s walls--if he focused just hard enough... “I would have died, Father. I didn’t escape on my own.” The Titan lifted his head.

“There was another Risen. They called themselves a Guardian.” With those words-slowly, almost haltingly, the story emerged. The House of Rain’s Servitor, the Walker. The ketches of Fallen that never seemed to stop, how the Ward was beginning to fail. And then...

_Saint, hold your position. You have an armed Guardian incoming._

_Who is this?!_

_Just stay alive, Titan!_

A woman in Warlock robes, Arc rippling off her, materializing almost out of thin air--cutting through the Fallen’s ranks with deadly efficiency before turning her wrath upon the Servitor and Walker- The Speaker listened, his mind whirling. He’d never heard of such a thing--not in the scant records that had been passed down to him from his predecessors, nor in the jagged, fragmented dreams the Traveler was able to send.

“Saint, are you...” The Exo moved, withdrawing the shotgun from his back, the Speaker noted. That had been an oddity as well, Saint was now almost never seen without it--and tended to it himself.

“This is proof.” He said. Coming over to the desk, he set it down, and a group of Ghosts immediately flew over. Clustering around it, they shot beams of Light, scanning and chirping...

“There’s another Light-signature on this!” One exclaimed, fins flaring. “It’s strong too!”

“It’s Arc, and super tingly if you beam hard enough!” Another added.

“This gun’s not from here.” A Ghost with red dots on it’s shell chirped. “I know all the weapon-makers, and this is not made by any of them.”

“None of the Warlords have anything that can even make this.” Another Ghost, with a battered fin added, squeezing out of the swarm that was now hovering over the shotgun. “It’s not from a Warmind bunker either!” The Speaker reached out-gently working his hands through the mob of drones to pick up the shotgun for himself. He could feel the Light-signatures-Saint’s own, and then... The Speaker dropped the weapon as if he’d been burned.

“Traveler!” 

“It’s been almost two months, Father.” Saint-14 said quietly. Next to him, Geppetto twitched her fins. “More than enough time for the Light to be worn away...but it’s still there.” He fisted the fingers of his hands. “I looked everywhere. Geppetto looked. We’ve asked everyone. But that Risen...she doesn’t exist. Not among us.” His voice was quiet, reverent. “Father...I think she truly came from the future. It was the Light showing us...showing us what will come, if we work hard enough.”

“Saint...” The Speaker began.

“Father. If I work hard enough-if I train enough...” Saint faced the human, determination radiating off him. “I can be like her. The Fallen-they ran in fear. Even more-one of Radagast’s people. She was fighting against the House of Rain. She was a Warlock, and her robes were almost the same style and color. The Fallen thought they were dealing with that Risen! They ran in fear! Away from her! I will do the same! The Fallen will learn to fear me-fear us, fear the City! That’s why I’ve began to train! I must become stronger-just as strong as her!”


	3. Fracture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saint, Zavala, and Cayde's death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (This was supposed to be in chronological order. Guess it's not happening now XD I've had this gnawing at me for a while, how Saint-XIV would have taken Cayde's death, not to mention what just could have prevented us/what happened that we couldn't make it to Cayde in time. So as of now, please consider the story bouncing back and forth between various events, but I promise it makes sense on the whole! XD)
> 
> (I also wanted to try and...explain somewhat, at least in my view, how Saint would view the Guardian. He adores us, and...yeah, the whole divine savior thing, but I view Saint-XIV as also being very pragmatic. He knows we make mistakes, he knows we're still learning, he knows we hurt and suffer. For me, I figured it's the 'what-if' factor, that maybe we as the Guardian, could really be a divine representation somehow of the Light and Traveler [inadvertently], that Saint sees. We're just like any other Guardian, and yet somehow we pull off the damn near impossible.)
> 
> (one last note. Pardon the formatting. Was too damn tired to fix, haven't been feeling well. Just wanted to get this posted).

\-------------------------------------------------------

_**The Last City** _   
_**Present day** _

This was his third time going through the recordings. Saint-XIV leaned back in the chair. Putting a hand to his face, he sighed.

“Cayde…” 

“I thought you would be here.” The Exo turned his head. Zavala had entered the office, the door closing behind him. 

“Ikora gave me access to the records.” Saint looked back at the monitors. “I…I wanted to see.” Geppetto settled in the palm of his left hand, blinking as her Risen started to gently rub a fin. It was a calming ritual for both. 

“This is something that should not have happened. And Selene…” He noticed as Zavala frowned-before the Awoken settled his face into a neutral expression. Saint paused, considering his next words.

“You did not approve of Selene’s actions.” He began. Zavala inhaled, walking over to the desk.

“I did…and I didn’t.” He said. “Were I younger-and not in the Vanguard, I would have done the same thing. I told her as much. But then…” He paused, looking down.

“She wasn’t the only one who left. We had a critical shortage of people afterwards, following in her footsteps. And I…I blamed her for that.” Saint didn’t answer. He’d noticed how strained Selene seemed to be around Zavala, and like versa. The Awoken rested a fist on the console, sighing.

“We’ve not been the same since then.” He said. “I wish I could take back what I said to her. I had expected better of her, I had thought she would still keep to her duty.” 

“Protecting the City does not mean remaining within its’ walls.” Saint said. 

“Something that I have to keep reminding myself.” Zavala answered. “Selene…does not fit into what was or is expected of a Guardian. She is different.”

“Very different!” Saint agreed. A faint smile appeared on Zavala’s face, and the Exo gestured. 

“Besides. How were you supposed to know that this would...?” Here Saint paused, considering his words. “Go so very wrong? The first time I watched this, I got a bad feeling.” 

“A bad feeling?” Zavala repeated.

“Yes.” Saint turned back to the screens. “I respected Cayde, but sometimes his plans left a little to be desired.”

“That they did.” Zavala murmured. His eyes flicked to the monitor. Selene had staggered into a room, making her way over to a console. As her Ghost popped out and began to access it, she slumped to her knees. Her robes were ripped and torn—though not in the condition they’d been when she’d returned to the Tower with Cayde’s body. Audio came from the speakers.

_Just have to check on a couple of things, and then we’ll call it a day._

_So long as you’re the one buyin’._

_“Selene?” Ozy flew over to his Guardian, back fins twitching_. Saint and Zavala watched as the Warlock held up a hand.

_“I’m fine. Just need to catch my breath. Everything was a bit too chaotic for my liking getting up here.”_

_“Everything’s too chaotic, period! After this, no more requests from Cayde, you’re turning him down!”_

_“Slight problem with that. Hunter Vanguard.” Selene snarked, rising to her feet Ozy buzzed rudely, watching as Selene began to reload her sidearm._

_“Ask Cayde if we’re done here, or do we need to keep going.” She ordered, tossing the spent magazine to the side. There was another rude buzz from Ozy, but he obeyed._ One of the screens split-showing Selene accessing the HUD in her helm to check on the prison’s security status.

_“…I’m not getting anything from him.”_

_“What?”_

_“Sundance isn’t responding to me, and neither is Cayde.” Ozy replied. Selene brought up her radar-she could faintly see the dot that was Cayde on the very edge of the sensors, it was moving rather quickly._

_“Cayde? Is everything alright?”_

“There was someone who believed she let this happen?” Saint asked.

“Initially.” Zavala answered. Aunor had been hell-bent on proving that Selene had been fully responsible for Cayde’s death. Something that Saint probably didn’t need to know, considering his more than vocal support of the Warlock—not that Zavala could blame him. Selene…somehow, could do the impossible. She performed miracles, Saint-XIV’s presence was proof as such. But at the same time…

“I know what you are thinking.” Saint rumbled. He turned to look at Zavala, who gazed steadily back at him.

“I know she is…” The Exo paused. “Mortal, like we all are. Our Ghosts die, we die. I know she makes mistakes. I know she is not perfect in fighting. But.” He gestured. “With what she has done, the burdens she’s borne—you must admit, there is a chance of something _greater_ in all of it, yes? The possibility exists. I do not think, though it is a rather nice fantasy-she sprung from a Light-source or a shard of the Traveler with her Ghost, ready to save us all. She was bones and dust like us.” Saint paused again, considering his next words.

“It is…that unknown, that I choose to believe in, when it comes to her. Which I think is the Traveler’s Light. Otherwise…” Saint’s gaze flicked back to the monitors. Alarms were flashing-Selene’s HUD, the prison’s sensors and radar-the surveillance drones—

“ _Selene, look out!”_ The two titans watched the screens _._

_The floor ripped out from beneath Selene’s feet. Her Light surged, the beginnings of her strafing ability to stay in the air…only to be struck down by a support beam that had been torn free of its moorings. The medical alarms screamed warnings-Selene was concussed, and a surge of Light indicated Ozy was trying to heal her. But the Ghost couldn’t move faster than gravity-and the blare of a flatline heart readout soon followed._

“Concussion, a twenty-story fall, which resulted in her Ghost being disoriented before he could attend to her, which in turn affected her recovery time when he revived her and…” Saint paused the videos, bringing up the radar. At the time of her resurrection, Selene had been at least been several stories above Cayde, clear on the other side of the supermax holding cells. A familiar line appeared on the map, showing the path Selene had to cut through to get to the Hunter Vanguard.

“Fighting enemies she wasn’t familiar with.” Saint finished. “I wouldn’t have been able to make it either. Nobody could have.”

“That was the conclusion.” Zavala said quietly. It hadn’t been failure on Selene’s part—yes, there was a moment when she should have called the Vanguard for backup, she’d admitted as much. But she’d trusted Cayde-and couldn’t really argue against him, even though he was the Hunter Vanguard he technically outranked her, he was her commander. And she hadn’t known the full story—Petra’s communication of her realization of the prison break had been sent on a private line to Cayde. Until that moment when she’d encountered the Barons and Uldren—Selene had been completely unaware of their existence-the Barons, at least. Uldren she’d not heard anything of since the events at Saturn. It was all just poor judgement, bad timing, shoddy execution… Zavala was pulled from his musings as Saint shut off the monitors.

“She has been avoiding me since we came back. I suspect over…my father and this.” The Exo rumbled softly. “We must talk.”

“Good luck finding her.” Zavala murmured.

“She is not Osiris. One small Warlock is not too hard to find.” Saint looked at Zavala. “Though you two have more need to talk than I.”

“I wouldn’t know what to say.” Zavala confessed. 

“You will figure out something.” Saint declared. “You two are easier to fix than Shaxx and Saladin. I am still trying to come up with a plan on that.”

“Good luck.” Zavala muttered, scowling. The idea of brokering peace between Saladin and Shaxx promised mayhem, and while he respected them both—he was not getting involved. That was all entirely on Saint-XIV.


End file.
